


Deprivation

by Skullszeyes



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Awkward Kissing, Dehydration, Dubious Consent, Lucas kept Clancy alive, M/M, OOC, Resident Evil 7, Starvation, Tied To A Chair, Unrequited Love, love deprivation, re7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 07:37:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9809588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skullszeyes/pseuds/Skullszeyes
Summary: Lucas and Clancy are both deprived.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Depression has been kicking my ass. :/ I'm not sure what to write about, but I thought about this when I was watching Markiplier's video where Ethan is being dragged by Jack. And he says, "Are we going to play as someone else?" And I hoped that we would play as Clancy, unfortunately we didn't because he.. died. :(
> 
> (Halsey - Control.) Song I listened too while writing this. Doesn't fit with the story, but I didn't feel like changing the song. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy.

Clancy jolted awake, sucking in a gasp as the door opened. Lucas wandered in, mumbling something under his breath with his head lowered, he used one hand to turn on the camera system. Clancy blinked sleep from his eyes, he shivered, the black zip ties kept him tucked on a chair against the wall, digging into his aching wrists.

How long has it been since Lucas was called for dinner? He seemed enthusiastic about going and said that they might have a new family member. Before he left, he stuck something into Clancy’s arm. A _precaution_.

“Did I wake you?” Lucas asked, turning his head slightly, eyes narrowed, a slow smile made its way on his face.

Something _was_ different. His hand…was gone. The part of his sweater ripped off with blood splattered along the sleeve and his pants.

Lucas notices him looking and wrinkles his nose, walking toward him and placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’m not as fragile as you are, Clancy. It’ll come back.”

He said it in a way that Clancy was sure he was delusional. Lucas turned back to his computer, fixing the audio on one of the TV’s. This chaotic silence, cold eased in with the unbearable pain pulsing from the stinging wounds. It washed over him, warmth that felt nothing like closure, nothing like safety.

A reminder that this was a nightmare pressed into reality.

“Fragile,” Lucas mutters, looking back at Clancy. “You’re not complaining anymore. You break easy.” He let out a sigh, frustration clings to the quirk of his brows before taking out his knife from the inside of his pocket.

Clancy tenses, his breath stuck in his throat. He pushed back against the chair that scrapes the wall, and the words slide through gritted teeth. “Fuck you.”

Lucas stops, frowning. “Relax. I’m not going to hurt you.” He snorts, derisively. Hooking a foot on the leg of the chair where Clancy’s legs are also tied to and pulls the chair away from the wall. Lucas struggles, grunting until Clancy is positioned to the side with his hands bared and connected to the back, tied to the wood.

Clancy swallows, body straight, closing his eyes and waiting for the inevitable but to his surprise. Lucas cuts the zip ties around Clancy’s wrists and steps back.

“Don’t want you running off.” He indicates at Clancy’s bound legs with the tip of his blade.

Clancy sneers, rubbing his sore wrists. The circulation broke the blood flow for some time, his hands were paler than usual and numb. He tests the restraints around his legs and his shoulders slump. The pain is tight, relentless, but he’s not as uncomfortable anymore with his wrists free from their bindings.

Lucas hasn’t fed him. Not like Clancy ever mentioned it. There was a sort of resistance with Lucas whenever he entered the room, a cheery sickness clung to the blue of his eyes, followed by the draining of his pallor and apparent instability. He’d spit out concoctions at every vibrant whim, spinning in his chair and getting close enough to whisper, mixing breath that shouldn’t be shared by a man who does not care for the wellbeing of his captive.

He sometimes sings off key. Clancy’s afraid to ask if it’s a torture method he suddenly thought up, or he enjoys singing ‘ _happy birthday’._

“When’s your birthday?” he asked once, legs pressed against Clancy’s, leaning back in his chair.

Clancy, who had strength to cuss and struggle, glared. “I’m not telling you.”

Lucas didn’t bother bringing it up again, but he didn’t stop singing. Clancy forced himself not to say a word, he wouldn’t give Lucas the satisfaction of getting to know him. After awhile, he was bored and disappeared for a few days. When he returned, Clancy was chipping away where he sat, neck sore from the angle of when he slept, stomach aching from the lack of food and mouth parched from dehydration.

Lucas only glanced at him, as if he didn’t really see him.

The air tasted liked ash - stale and empty. He wouldn’t say it, but he felt it and he trembled. Clenching his teeth, his heart beat painfully in his chest as the words tumbled from his tongue. “Do you...have water?”

Lucas went still before turning toward him. His brows raised and he smiled, amusement laced with something predatory. He walked before him and brought his leg up, slamming his foot down on the chair between his legs and leaned forward. “Is that desperation I hear?” Snickering, he pushed the chair until Clancy was situated against the wall, facing Lucas once again.

Clancy pushed Lucas’s leg off the chair, his stomach gnawing within. A breath of that desperation, wrought with emptiness. “Do you have any or not?”

“You’d honestly take something from me? Figured your fire burned out weeks ago, but I can see it’s still sparking.” Lucas giggled, like a child as he walked backwards until he slumped down in his spinning chair.

“Quit fucking playing with me.”

“Oh, I’m not, _partner._ It’s an honest question since you showed disinterest for several weeks, I figured starvation would ignite something in you. Quite boring when you’re not functioning.”

“Me...not functioning. What about you?”

Lucas shrugs, turning in his chair to glance at the hazy image of a white room with streamers lining the ceiling and walls. Several mundane colored balloons were scattered throughout in bunches, tied to a table and the walls.

_So that’s what he’s been doing._

A week ago, Lucas spent his day blowing helium into balloons, at the same time, laughing at the insane sound of his heightened voice when he used it on himself. Clancy was stuck trying to imagine a different scenario with Andre and Pete. Maybe instead of looking for southern haunted houses in distant bayou’s, they instead went for pizza and watched other people on TV wander into abandoned buildings.

Maybe then Clancy didn’t have to be the sole survivor and the unwilling forced friendship to a sociopath with a visceral need for mechanical objects. Lucas was restless when he had nothing to do, obscured by the inability to find another hobby. Not like Clancy ever mentioned this obvious factor.

Lucas moved closer, hands on the arm wrists of the chair as the wheels scraped on the hardwood floor. He pressed his knees against Clancy’s that felt a little too close for comfort. Leaning forward, Lucas smiled that left Clancy trembling. His hand...It was growing back, in some odd way that his fingers began to form, stretching with cracks of bones aligning into fingertips.

 _Was it real?_ The proximity and the underlying truth of what Lucas was, an identifiable monster. Scraped raw from insanity, but there’s grief in his eyes, a hollowness he wishes to fill. Clinging to his fingertips that reach out for Clancy’s shoulders, dragging him forward.

Cracked lips, hazy eyes, a body brittle with need. Clancy braced himself because what Lucas spoke was a whisper on his skin, once forgotten and unwilling to compromise. Collapsing, decomposing, a weight of a meaningless facade. He was starving too, from something else, a comfort deep within the recesses of his soul.

“Are you scared of me?” he asked, sure of the words that left his lips.

He kissed Clancy before he could speak. Ripe with rejection and futility. Afraid of the truth that tenderly strained inside of Clancy when he was captured and bound.

It was a soft kiss, slow and…. _agonizing._

When Lucas finally did pull away, he seemed almost embarrassed and annoyed.

“Have you ever kissed anyone?” Clancy wondered, not sure what to do or say, but the first thing that really did pop in his head was what the fuck was Lucas doing and why?

Lucas pushed himself away from Clancy, glaring at him as he stopped before the TV and pressed a button that switched the screen to another room. A room filled with balloons lying on the floor. “Haven’t got the time. I...don't know how to love...or whatever it is that people get mushy about,” he replied, glaring at the TV.

Clancy reached up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “How about...practice on someone else that you aren’t going to kill.”

“Who said I was going to kill you?”

“I’m sure if you weren’t, Hoffman would still be alive.”

“You were lucky you managed to survive that game,” Lucas mumbled, leaning back in the chair. “I wouldn’t have kissed Hoffman. He has a wife and daughter.”

Clancy glared. “He’s dead.”

“Again, lucky.”

Lucas stood, the chair spinning behind him as he shrugged off his sweater. He didn’t wear anything beneath. His ribcage pronounced, skin pale with blotches of yellow along his sides. Skinny and frail, as brittle as glass and damaged all the same.

“Need a new sweater, dad cut my hand off.” Lucas waved his intact hand at him.

“I noticed,” Clancy said.

“I’ll get you that water now, don’t go anywhere and if I do find you gone. I’ll track you down and set you loose inside my latest game.” He grinned and left the room with the slam of the door, the sound reverberated, jolting a trembled breath from Clancy who once again sat alone, with legs bound and arms free.

_Why did he kiss me?_

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't really sure about this, it kind of went into a weird direction and writing 'love' or 'romance' realistically with a victim and their killer is difficult.  
> I was thinking of writing a fic of where Lucas isn't a killer. So if you want, I'll write that sometime once my depression stops killing my creativity. :D
> 
> (I watched my brother play the Daughter DLC, and Lucas is so damn adorable and weirdly innocent in there. I can't believe he changes so drastically in 3 yrs. Someone who kicks the air - to someone who actually tortures people.)
> 
> Anyway, I hoped you enjoyed.


End file.
